Nightfall Over Shanghai

by Daniel Kalla

  Franz started to help mop up the excess blood.

  Suzuki glanced at the anesthetist, who placed two fingers on the patient’s neck and then said something in Japanese. Franz inferred from his tone and his nod that the patient was still alive.

  “I’m sorry, Captain,” Franz said. Usually, he would have been mortified by such a mistake, which was as bad as any he had ever committed inside the operating room, but he was too devastated by Helen’s death to consider much else.

  “You are distracted,” Suzuki said as he ran more sutures deep inside the wound. “It is understandable.”

  They finished the surgery in silence. After the patient had been removed from the table, Franz automatically headed to the sink to scrub for the next. He had no idea how many more casualties from the air raid would pass through the operating room, but it didn’t matter. It would be another sleepless night, whether or not he worked through it.

  “I need your assistance, Dr. Adler,” Suzuki said from behind him.

  “I will be scrubbed soon.”

  “Not here,” Suzuki said.

  Franz dropped his damp hands to his sides and turned to face Suzuki.

  “Come with me,” the captain said.

  Outside, the skies were clear but the bitter odour of gun smoke still hung in the air. As Franz followed Suzuki down the pathway, he couldn’t help but glance down at the place where Helen had fallen. Two narrow boot skids marked the spot, but soon even those would be erased and there would be nothing left to commemorate her passing.

  Suzuki led Franz toward the convalescence tent, which overflowed outside with recovering men, many covered in thick bandaging. Three more trucks had been destroyed by enemy planes, but one troop transport stood with its engine idling and a ramp leading into the back of it. A young lieutenant met them outside the tent with a sharp salute for Suzuki. The two officers spoke for a short while. The tent’s flap rustled and Major Okada hobbled out, leaning heavily on his cane but moving with fierce determination.

  Franz bowed his head deeply as Okada joined them. The major ignored Franz altogether, but his eyes shot daggers at Suzuki. When he finally spoke, his voice was as soft as ever. Suzuki hardly said a word in response. Finally, Okada raised his cane and shook it skyward before swinging it out toward Franz. Rather than fear, Franz felt only a storm of anger and hatred. You are just another bully in a world drowning in them. He even considered snatching the weapon out of Okada’s hand, despite the consequences, but he just squared his shoulders and said, “You should have moved the camp, Major. This is your fault. Her death is on your head.”

  The major’s eyes darted to Suzuki for a translation. The captain lowered his chin to his chest and mumbled a few sentences.

  Okada turned back to Franz with a malicious scowl. The butt of the cane came to a stop right between Franz’s eyes. After several seconds, Okada let it fall to the ground. He wheeled and limped away without another word.

  Franz looked over to Suzuki. “What did you tell him?”

  “Enough.”

  “You didn’t translate what I said, did you?”

  Suzuki rubbed his temples. “I cannot cope with one more casualty tonight. Besides, I still need your help.” He ducked through the tent’s flap opening.

  Inside, every bed was full, and several men lay on the ground. Although Franz had grown to expect it, he was still struck by the stoicism of the wounded Japanese. Not one uttered so much as a groan, despite their grave injuries.

  Suzuki motioned toward a soldier who lay on a wooden stretcher, covered by a blanket up to his chest. The youth looked to be barely in his teens, but his colour was better than most of the others, and Franz saw no obvious wounds or dressings. “Help me lift him,” Suzuki instructed as he raised one end of the stretcher.

  Franz took the other end and lifted it easily, the soldier was so light. They manoeuvered through the maze of bodies on the ground. At one point, Franz stumbled and the stretcher wobbled from side to side. The boy raised his arms to try to stabilize himself, and Franz saw that his legs remained motionless.

  “A spinal injury?” Franz asked as soon as they were outside.

  Suzuki nodded. “A shattered thoracic vertebra. He is paralyzed from the base of his chest down.”

  “What can we do for him here?” Franz asked.

  “Nothing, which is why we are sending him home.” Suzuki pushed Franz and the stretcher in the direction of the waiting truck.

  Franz walked backwards up the ramp. Inside the truck were other stretchers, loaded onto the built-in benches. A soldier took the stretcher from Franz and steered the patient into an open slot. Franz followed Suzuki back to the convalescence tent. He wasn’t surprised when the captain headed directly for a burn victim in the far corner. Together they carried this man out to the truck too. The soldier had to make room to squeeze the stretcher in between the others.

  “Surely the truck is full, Captain,” Franz said.

  “There is room for one more,” Suzuki said.

  Franz started back toward the tent, but Suzuki caught his arm as he passed. “No. No more casualties, Dr. Adler.”

  “Who, then?”

  Suzuki released his arm. “You.”

  “Me?” Franz was stunned. “I do not follow.”

  Suzuki squinted. “These men are ill. They require an escort.”

  Franz fought off a glimmer of hope. “An escort to where?”

  “The truck will transport you to Changsha. From there, you will be flown to Shanghai.”

  “Shanghai?” Franz almost choked on the word.

  Suzuki shrugged. “It’s the only place with hospitals equipped to care for these men.”

  Franz was almost afraid to ask. “And afterward? Will I be sent back here?”

  “I do not want to ever see you here again.” Suzuki showed him a tired smile. “You very nearly killed my previous patient. That kind of assistance, I can do without.”

  Franz felt the ground swaying beneath him, but he knew that his low blood pressure wasn’t to blame. “You are letting me go home, Captain?”

  Suzuki shook his head. “I am dispatching you as a medical escort. What happens to you once you get back to Shanghai is none of my concern.”

  Franz’s chest felt as though it might burst as he turned away. “I will go get my bag.”

  Suzuki grabbed him by the wrist. “The truck is ready. You will go now.”

  “It will take me but a minute.”

  “You will go now,” Suzuki repeated as he squeezed Franz’s wrist tightly.

  Franz suddenly understood. “You haven’t told Major Okada, have you?”

  Suzuki let go of Franz. “I am a captain in the Imperial Army. I am capable of issuing my own orders.”

  “You will be in trouble with him, Captain.”

  “Either you get in that truck immediately, or I will dispatch you in the next one heading out to the front line. This much I know, Dr. Adler. You are not welcome at this camp for a moment longer.”

  Franz bowed deeply. “Thank you, Captain.”

  This time, Suzuki didn’t admonish him for his gratitude. Instead, he said, “My one regret is not having sent Mrs. Thompson away when I had the opportunity. It was most selfish of me.”

  “Helen respected you, sir.”

  Suzuki only grunted. At a loss for words, Franz held out his hand to shake Suzuki’s. But the captain turned away with just a curt nod. He called out to the nearby lieutenant, uttering a series of orders.

  Franz climbed into the back of the truck. The soldier managing the stretchers eyed Franz as if he were a feral cat seeking refuge in a hold, but he said nothing. The door slammed shut behind them. Franz squeezed himself onto the hard seat between two stretchers. Emotions raged inside him. As heartbroken as he was over Helen’s death, he couldn’t believe that he might be going home to Sunny and Hannah.

  The truck’s engine continued to idle. Franz looked out the window as the driver and the lieutenant stood talking. He wanted to scream at
the driver to just climb into the truck and get moving, to get him away from this place.

  Just then, Major Okada reappeared at the end of the road. Franz’s heart leapt into his throat as Okada made directly for the truck. Franz leaned back, trying to make himself invisible. “Not now,” he mumbled under his breath in German. “Not when I’m so close.”

  Suzuki stepped into the road in front of Okada. He snapped his fingers at the driver and barked at him in Japanese. The man spun and headed for the truck. Franz held his breath. Suzuki met Okada and his entourage, blocking their path. Okada lifted his cane and shook it at the truck, but Suzuki stood his ground.

  The truck clunked into gear and jerked forward. Franz covered his face and muttered a prayer for the truck to keep moving. Eventually, the camp disappeared from sight behind them.

  CHAPTER 37

  The front door whooshed open, startling Sunny. She glanced down at Joey, asleep in her arms, before she looked over to the doorway. She had expected to see Esther and Jakob but instead found Hannah standing there. “Hannah, you scared me half to death. And Joey is still—”

  The frantic look on her stepdaughter’s face stopped Sunny midsentence. Hannah rushed over to her. “It’s Freddy,” she cried.

  “Oh, Hannah, what happened?” Sunny’s worry soared as she spotted the leaves tangled in Hannah’s dishevelled hair. “What has that boy done to you?”

  “Nothing,” Hannah cried as she knelt down in front of her. “They’ve arrested him! The Japanese!”

  Sunny went cold. “While he was using the transmitter?” she whispered.

  Hannah nodded, fighting back tears. “He’d just finished broadcasting.”

  “Oh, God, you were there too?” Sunny gasped.

  “The reception was no good,” Hannah sputtered. “The transmission kept dropping. I told Freddy to stop, but he kept repeating it. It took too long. The signal seekers, they drive around the city—”

  Sunny grabbed Hannah’s shoulder. “What happened to Freddy?”

  “We were in the clearing behind the school. The truck—it appeared out of thin air. The soldiers were everywhere. Sie waren überall.” In her distress, Hannah lapsed into German. “Freddy told me to hide in the bushes. I thought he was going to follow me.”

  “So where did he go?”

  “I think he just stayed and waited for them.”

  Sunny released Hannah’s wrist. “Why would he do that?”

  “To protect me. Don’t you see?” Hannah sobbed. “They would have searched the bushes and found me too.”

  Sunny hurried to bundle Joey up in his blanket. The baby’s eyes opened and his face puckered into the beginnings of a cry. Ignoring his whimpers, Sunny jumped to her feet and pointed at the loft. “Go get your bag, Hannah. Throw what you can into it. Nothing too heavy. We must leave straightaway.”

  “Leave? But we have nowhere to go.”

  “We must get out of here. Now,” Sunny cried. “The Kempeitai—they will come for us.”

  “Freddy doesn’t know you’re involved,” Hannah said. “Besides, he would never turn me in. Never.”

  “They will make him talk. Trust me, Hannah.” Sunny had an unwelcome flashback to the day a year before when she had stumbled across the men from her Underground cell dangling from the scaffold on the street corner. Some had been tortured beyond recognition.

  How could I have put children in the path of such danger? Sunny felt nauseated with guilt. “Freddy will talk eventually,” she mumbled. “Anyone would.”

  “We must help him,” Hannah pleaded.

  Sunny would have walked straight into Bridge House and turned herself in if she thought it would make a difference. But she knew better. “Darling, no one can help Freddy now.” She looked down at her fussing baby, unable to face Hannah’s plaintive eyes. “All we can do is save ourselves.”

  Hannah sniffled. “And what about Esther and Jakob? We can’t just leave them.”

  “Of course not.” Snapping out of her self-recrimination, Sunny focused on their escape plan. “I will pack a bag for each of them. We will catch them on the street before they return home.”

  “And go where?”

  Sunny hadn’t thought that far ahead, but it occurred to her that there was only one choice. “The Comfort Home.”

  Hannah’s mouth fell open. “The brothel? We can take the children there?”

  “It is more than that, Hannah. There is a hideaway in the basement. We’ll be safe there.”

  “How will Esther get out of the ghetto without a pass?”

  “I don’t know.” Sunny wanted to scream in frustration. “There must be another family who can take in her and Jakob? How about the rabbi? Surely he must know someone who can help. Yes, we will take her to the synagogue.”

  Hannah nodded distractedly. “What will they do to Freddy?”

  Sunny again pictured her Resistance colleagues, their faces beaten, their bodies broken and their fingers snapped like twigs underfoot. Forcing the image from her head, she grabbed Hannah by the shoulders. “There is no time for that, Liebchen. Go get your bag!”

  Hannah shook free of Sunny’s grip. She stared defiantly at her stepmother and then, tears streaming down her cheeks, she headed for the loft.

  Despite Joey’s howls of complaint, Sunny lowered him to the floor, then started pawing through Esther’s drawers. She packed some clothes into two canvas bags, one for each family. Reluctantly, she decided to leave behind their boots and winter coats—their bulk would be conspicuous.

  Hannah was waiting for her at the door. Her eyes were clear, but she avoided Sunny’s gaze. “I am so sorry, Hannah. This is my fault. All of it.”

  Hannah sniffed a few times. “We knew the risks.”

  “How could you possibly know?” Sunny held out her hands. “You are only—”

  The knock silenced her. Hannah backed slowly away from the door, as though it might be booby-trapped. Sunny was calmed by the gentle rap—it didn’t sound like that of the soldiers—but her hand trembled nevertheless as she turned the knob.

  Freddy stood at the threshold. His shirt was ripped, his upper lip bloodied and his right eyelid bruised and swollen half shut. But his smile was as bright as ever as he stepped into the room.

  “Freddy,” Hannah cried, throwing herself into his arms.

  “Hiya, Banana,” he said, dancing her around in circles.

  Hannah planted her lips on his and kissed him ferociously. Embarrassed, Sunny turned her head away, but she couldn’t suppress her laugh of relief.

  The teenagers finally separated long enough to speak. “How is this nes—this miracle—possible?” Hannah demanded.

  Freddy chuckled. “I’m way too smart for those yellow devils.” He glanced over to Sunny with an apologetic wave. “No offence, ma’am. I was talking about the Japs, of course.”

  “We use the same term in Shanghainese,” Sunny said with another laugh.

  Hannah shook him playfully by the shoulders. “But how, Freddy? How did you get free of them?”

  “Simple. I cried.”

  Hannah scrunched her face. “You cried?”

  Freddy stared at her, then his lower lip quivered and he sniffled. Soon tears welled and dripped down his cheeks. “I was only playing, sir,” he whimpered theatrically, his voice cracking like a boy going through early puberty. “My friend and I talk on the radio. We pretend we are broadcasters. Like Edward Murrow or … or Tokyo Rose.”

  “You’re so clever, Freddy,” Hannah said.

  Freddy’s voice dropped to its normal timbre and the tears dried up. “Not bad, huh?”

  “And they believed you?” Sunny asked.

  “Not right away, no.” He touched his black eye. “But lucky for me, one of them spoke English.”

  “So how did you convince them?”

  “I radioed Sergei. In Little Russia.”

  Sunny shook her head. “Sergei? Who is he?”

  “We buy our cigarettes from his family,” Freddy said. “He’s th
e fellow I place our orders with.”

  “How did you know you could reach him today?” Sunny asked.

  “He was waiting.”

  “Why?”

  Freddy touched his temple. “Sergei and I had this backup plan all arranged. If the Japs were to catch me, I’d call him and we’d pretend that we were just fooling around with the radio. Like a couple of kids playing with a new toy. Sergei caught on right away. He was totally convincing.”

  “Not as convincing as you, I bet,” Hannah said proudly.

  Freddy rolled his eyes. “The stupid Japs mocked me. They called me a little girl and made fun of me for crying.”

  “But you got the last laugh, Freddy.” Hannah embraced him fiercely again. “You’re so clever.”

  Sunny could have hugged the boy too. “I have to agree with Hannah. You performed like a master spy.”

  “Maybe so,” he snorted. “But the Japs confiscated the radio. Papa is going to be miffed.”

  “A small price to pay, all things considered,” Sunny said.

  Freddy frowned. “How are we going to make the next broadcast to the Americans? Can you get me a new transmitter?”

  “No,” Sunny said.

  “No matter,” Freddy said. “We can probably get our neighbour, Herr Silbermann, to build us a new one.”

  Sunny shook her head vehemently. “Absolutely not, Freddy. Never again.”

  Freddy appeared taken aback. “We can’t just stop now.”

  “We can and we will,” Sunny said. “No more broadcasts. No more spying. We will never be so lucky twice.”

  CHAPTER 38

  The truck rumbled along Great Western Road, passing mansions that had once housed the wealthiest and most influential Shanghailanders, the families who had run the city prior to the Japanese invasion. Franz could see how the properties had fallen into disrepair—their lawns yellowed and their gardens overgrown—but never had he been happier to see the familiar buildings. He would have loved to have his camera with him; there was something noble about the houses’ weathered dilapidation.

  Up until now, Franz had refused to really believe he would ever get here. Even after the truck had left the field hospital at Hengyang and the plane had taken off from the airstrip outside Changsha, he had not completely trusted that he was going home. Not until he caught sight of the city’s outskirts did he let the possibility into his heart. With every block they travelled toward the ghetto, his elation rose.